


c'mon, i'm buying

by crowkag



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cheeseburgers, College, Developing Friendships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Insecure Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT, POV James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, but make it tony stark, me too bud, the episode where squidward eats a krabby patty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowkag/pseuds/crowkag
Summary: Tony doesn’t move. He looks at the window again, back at James. Shakes his head a little wildly.“What?” he asks for a second time.James grabs his jacket off the floor, runs his arms through the sleeves and starts zipping up.“We’re getting food.”“Um. Why?”“Because I’m hungry?”“No, I mean… You want me to come along?”(or: The beginnings of a friendship, starring cheeseburgers.)
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	c'mon, i'm buying

**Author's Note:**

> i am currently editing a 14k one shot that should hopefully be ready to share sooner rather than later, but it is also driving me insane, so. i took a break from editing by.....writing another one shot. i played myself. but this fic idea has been on my mind for a while so here it is :)
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: howard stark being a toxic asshole and yelling at tony, and brief mentions/allusions to self-harm behaviors.

Counting it all up, James can say that he’s spoken a total of two words to his roommate since the start of freshman year. Both of which were “hi,” so—one word?

Alright, counting it up, he’s spoken one word twice. Quick, in-and-out, no response given back. And he’s gotta admit: when he saw the name _Anthony Stark_ printed next to his on the roommate assignments, he’d expected more than just a whole lot of nothing.

Most nights he’s got the dorm to himself, though, which is dandy enough. He’s been told it’s a stroke of luck by the guy who sits behind him in Engineering Fundamentals, who swears up and down that his roommate steals calculators just to snap them in half and read their cracked circuit boards like entrails. And the noises James hears from doors at the start of his hallway are the kinda stuff you speed walk past if you know what’s good for you. So if the Stark kid is off doing weirdo shit, at least it’s not anywhere James can see, hear, or smell.

Still, though.

He’ll spot him across the quad now and again. Tony Stark, always talking to somebody or making an unsuspecting professor laugh. Despite the prestigious nametag, all the people who group themselves around him make him look ten times smaller.

That, and he wears his backpack like it’s something he wants to drop.

Just makes James wonder, sometimes. That’s all.

****

He’s staring at his ceiling and trying to picture it as the chalkboard from today’s calculus class when Mini Stark throws the dorm door in.

“Dad, I’m—yes, it’s—no, sir.”

James peeks his head over the upper bunk railing in time to see his desk chair pulled out. His roommate sits down heavily, thunking around in a decibel that is far too high for almost-midnight o’clock. The antenna of his mobile phone glints under the single orange light from the room’s entryway, and it doesn’t look like any model James has ever seen before. It’s smaller, sleeker, done up in what’s clearly a custom design job, but the nice appearance doesn’t do shit to cover up the screeching voice coming out of the receiver.

Mini Stark leans into James’ desk.

“No, sir,” he says again when the yelling on the other end takes a pause. He’s got his thumbnail underneath the nail of his index finger, pressing into the skin with force.

James listens, feeling reluctant to move, to shift even an inch. The “no, sir” comes up five more times at the least, each one getting progressively softer in volume as the shouted words and curses rise like a roar, and it has James thinking that his roommate is used to this. That he’s trained himself in placations and shrinkings of the self.

It settles something gross and sick in the pit of James’ stomach.

The call ends in a final “Okay. Yes, sir,” and a clatter of the phone on the desk. Tony wilts at the crook of his waist, pressing the swell of his now free fist over his eye.

“Why the fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “I just—why do you keep thinking you can talk to him? Fucking moron. Fucking selfish. Good for nothing fucking _idiot_.”

He’s still got his thumbnail digging in, poking, trembling, possibly cutting—

James sits up.

“Rough night, man?” he asks.

His roommate fucking _jumps_ , knees slamming into the underside of the desk before he’s scrambling, grabbing his phone and standing by the far wall. He stares up at where James stares down and his mouth flaps open and closed like a fish.

“I’m—sorry, I—how long have you been…” He trails off, fingers starting to tap out a beat on his phone. _Clackity clackity clack._

James raises an eyebrow.

“I came in just now, actually.” At the startled look he gets, he continues, “What, you didn’t see me open the window?”

Tony’s brow wrinkles. James can see his eyes flicking to their single window on the left wall, though there’s an equal chance of that being the start of an escape route plan as making disbelieving faces at his roommate’s poorly timed jokes. The flesh of Tony’s left cheek dents inward like he’s chewing on it, and he visibly deflates, taking a breath.

“You were… probably sleeping—”

“Studying, actually.”

“—and I’m sorry, I’m—”

“It’s fine.”

“—just not used to sharing a room. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Sorry.”

It sounds rehearsed. Not the words themselves, just… the tone of voice. Small and halting.

The posture. The zero eye contact. All of it a role carefully fallen into.

James considers this kid standing below him a moment longer. The one whose face he’s grown up seeing on magazine covers and underneath newspaper headlines. Always smiling, holding one science fair award or another in his arms, Howard Stark towering over him with a grin of his own and a hand on his son’s shoulder. James now has a suspicion that if he were to look at those pictures closer, he would see clothing creases where harsh fingers dig into the skin beneath shirt fabric.

That imagery compels something inside his chest, carrying the words of his mom— _do the kind thing, Jimmy_ —and he moves to the ladder of their bunk bed and climbs on down.

“Alright, c’mon,” he says, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers.

Tony blinks at him. His grip around the phone tightens.

“What?”

“Grab a hat. It’s cold outside tonight.”

Tony doesn’t move. He looks at the window again, back at James. Shakes his head a little wildly.

“What?” he asks for a second time.

James grabs his jacket off the floor, runs his arms through the sleeves and starts zipping up.

“We’re getting food.”

“Um. Why?”

“Because I’m hungry?”

“No, I mean… You want me to come along?”

It’s said a little incredulously, like the way anybody would ask their barely-an-acquaintance roommate why they were inviting them out to eat nearly five hours after the sun has set. The hesitance is justifiable. But there’s also that hint of inflection on the “me,” a ringing note of disbelief sitting squarely in the “last one picked in gym class” variety. It has James’ chest and stomach tightening.

“Food tends to taste better when you’re sharing it,” he says, not quite sure if he’s coming off as soft as he wants to but making the effort anyways. “And I already offered, so it’d be rude to turn me down.”

He doesn’t tack on the _you look like you could use it_ thought. Something tells him it would only make his roommate want to hole up.

“Oh,” Tony says. It sounds like it’s said on the edge of a smile. “I guess I… don’t have a choice, then?”

“Not tonight, man. Now c’mon, I’m buying.”

****

They find some 24/7 fast food joint with a buzzing neon sign and an unpleasant-looking man situated behind the counter. The whole place screams shady and the walls are practically coated in grease.

It’s absolutely perfect.

Despite the crispness in the air, they get their food to go and head outside to eat. James goes toward his truck, turning around to lean against the hood, but when he reaches inside his bag to grab his order of curly fries, he notices that Tony’s not beside him. He looks down the sidewalk to see an empty bench, sweeps his eyes twice over the storefront window to check he didn’t accidentally abandon his roommate, and then he hears a crumpling noise to his left and searches over the swell of his headlight.

Tony’s sitting on the curb by the truck’s wheels, the wrapper of his cheeseburger pulled back methodically so only one half is dripping grease onto the pavement. He’s holding it with only his thumbs and index fingers, the tips of his outstretched pinkies trembling. There’s not a single bite mark to be seen.

James sighs. He stuffs a couple fries in his mouth, pushes off the hood of his truck, and plops himself down on Tony’s right side. His roommate leans back and blinks at him. Surprise is evident in the whites of his eyes.

James gives a purposeful glance at the cheeseburger.

“You planning on eating that? Since I paid for it and everything?”

Tony’s lips thin and he curls in on himself, before jolting upright when he realizes that his shoulders are drooping. He shakes his head and gives James a sideways glance out of his periphery.

“I offered to pay,” he mumbles. “You can’t say I didn’t.”

James considers him a moment. He’s about to reach out and lightly knock Tony’s shoulder with his knuckles, but then he thinks better of it and goes for a shrug instead.

“It’s alright, man. I’m just messing with you. If you don’t want it you can just wrap it back up and toss it in the bag. I’ll save it for later.”

Tony makes a face like he doesn’t quite believe him. James raises an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. It’s fine.”

Tony looks back at his sandwich. He huffs a breath through his nose and nods.

“Okay,” he says, quietly. Then he leans forward to rest his elbows on the points of his knees. James can see an awkward little patch of facial hair growing down by his chin. He makes no move to wrap the cheeseburger up.

“Um…” Another breath, a swallow. “It’s just that I don’t really—I don’t eat this kind of stuff.”

James reaches into his bag and pulls his own burger out.

“What, like not rich people food?”

Tony flinches, tries to cover it up with a laugh, but it’s too thready and nervous to be convincing. His breaths cloud the air.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Sighing again—maybe in exasperation, maybe as part of a flounder, because he kinda feels like he has no idea what he’s doing right now—James gestures to Tony’s food.

“Listen, I just thought you could do with getting out of the dorms for a little bit, so. I accomplished that. Whatever else you wanna do is your choice.”

Tony hunches in again. He stares and stares at his burger like it’s got the right answer to a question he’s been asking for decades.

“Oh,” he says, still not quite sounding like he believes it. Then he rolls his shoulders back and nods. “Okay. I’ll try it.”

James can’t help but snort. He wonders if family dinners for this kid run like business meetings back at home.

“Alright. Have at it, man.”

He watches as Tony takes that first bite. It’s small and tentative, but the result is instantaneous. His eyes light up and soon he’s going for a second round.

“Shit,” he mumbles around a mouthful of bread and meat. “That’s really good.”

“Better than caviar?”

Tony laughs and this time, there’s no hesitation or nervousness behind it.

“A lot better.”

He devours the rest down greedily while James tucks into his own meal, the next few minutes passing in relative silence. Every now and again a car will pass by on the street, usually going a couple miles over the speed limit given the desolate time of night. The buzzing and clicking of the neon sign is a constant, sometimes drowned out, other times a drone of noise too pervasive to ignore.

Everything considered, it’s peaceful. Empty, but not lonely.

When the wrappers are all cleared away and greasy fingertips are wiped clean on napkins, James turns to Tony on the curb. There’s something about a vacant stretch of street corner that always gets him talking easier.

“Is he always like that?” he asks.

Tony nudges a loose chunk of pavement with the tip of his shoe.

“My old man?”

“Yeah.”

Tony sniffs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and focuses on the darkened window of a nail salon across the street.

“How much did you hear?”

James shrugs.

“Just a whole lot of screaming. Couldn’t make out individual words. Sounded more like animal grunts, anyways.”

Tony chuckles in a way that sounds far too exhausted to have come from a fourteen-year-old’s throat.

“Yeah.”

There’s a small beat of silence. Tony pokes at that same pavement chunk again, then kicks it hard enough with the side of his sneaker that it goes skittering out into the middle of the road. Another car rolls by, this one with a dented bumper and its high beams clicked on. It passes over the stone like it’s an inconsequential thing. The presence of an ant under a bootheel.

Tony breathes in the vehicle’s wake. It’s not a sigh, but it shudders like one.

“I wanted to tell him about the test grade I got back,” he says. “Perfect score, but—when I told him, he just… started asking about what I’m doing for extra credit. Rattles off all the extracurriculars I need to take, tells me who I’ll be shadowing at the company over winter break. And when I asked if I could speak to mom, he…”

He stops, and this time he does sigh. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose and rub like he’s got a headache.

“I can never just— _talk_ to him. I don’t know why I keep trying to convince myself that it’s even…” He shakes his head, glances at James like he’d momentarily forgotten he was there. “Sorry. I’m just—I do this a lot. Get in my head and talk to myself out loud like a crazy person.”

James frowns at the words.

“You don’t sound crazy.”

“I feel crazy.”

“You’re not. Trust me. I know a guy who reads calculator entrails.”

Tony lowers his hand and blinks at him.

“You’ve met Greg Kaminski’s roommate?”

“I mean, not in the flesh. But I feel like I know him through association.”

“Oh. Okay, good. I was worried I’d have to reconcile the calculator killer as a real, flesh and blood person.”

That gets a chuckle out of James.

“Nah, you’re good there. And as for Howard—” Tony’s fingers twitch at the mention, “—well. He just sounds like a Grade-A asshole.”

And he’s not sure what kind of response he was expecting at his words, but it was definitely not the stare he gets, Tony’s mouth coming open like he just saw somebody get slapped.

He doesn’t expect the chuckle, either, or the full blown laugh, which bursts out like a bullet and bounces off the buildings around them, carrying down the street as an echo. Tony looks shocked that the noise came from his mouth, clamping his teeth shut tight.

It’s only a second before he’s grinning again, though, wide and wild.

James smirks.

“Take it I’m the first one to talk about your dad like that?”

Tony snickers.

“First one I’ve heard, at least.” He shakes his head. “Grade A-asshole, huh?” His eyes turn out onto the street, at the pools of streetlamp light and wooden fencing. He chuckles, glances at James with a set look to his face, then takes a deep breath through his nose.

His head tilts back, his hands cup his mouth, and he shouts, “Hear that, Howard? My roommate thinks you’re a grade-A asshole!”

It travels down the road, around the corner, goes up like a proclamation. Feels like a spit directly in God’s eyeball, and James blinks like he can see the words taking form. He’s silent for a beat, all inhales and exhales, ears perked, kinda expecting something to explode in the distance.

Then Tony turns to him, makes eye contact with that toothy grin, and James can’t help it. They both break into peals of laughter.

The situation warrants it, just—the absolute surrealness of sitting side-by-side with the prodigal son of the wealthiest man in the world, watching him scream obscenities into the midnight sky when not fifteen minutes prior, he’d hesitated on biting into a fucking cheeseburger.

It's truly something else. It’s a lot. They’ve been at MIT for four months now, sitting in that low period between the peak of midterms and the starting point of finals, and maybe it’s that calm before the storm effect that has James feeling like a key is now slotting into place. Maybe it’s because, out of all the first interactions he could have had with his roommate, this is the one he gets, and it’s _nice_.

Whatever it may be, he just laughs in the wake of it. Laughs and laughs, Tony tipping sideways from his own hysterics to lean into his shoulder, and it all makes sense by virtue of its senselessness.

“ _Hey!”_ they hear from behind, hard and harsh. They jolt upright, and when they turn over their shoulders, they see the unpleasant restaurant man glaring at them from the doorway. “You kids got any idea what time of night it is? Pipe the hell down or find some other curb to lose your shit on!” He lets the door fall shut before either of them can answer.

James and Tony share a glance. Then, grin still in place and shoulders shaking with mirth, Tony sticks his hand out.

“I owe you a proper introduction—” he says, wiggling his fingers, “—since I haven’t exactly been the best roommate so far. Tony Stark.”

James smirks, breathes a chuckle. He takes Tony’s hand and shakes.

(An agreement of cosmic proportions, wordless and paperless but signed and stamped all the same.)

“James Rhodes.”

Tony nods, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

“Thank you for the burger, James.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He glances back around at the restaurant, sees the employee glowering down the length of the mop he’s washing the floors with. Then he looks up at his truck.

“We should probably head back, right?” he asks.

Tony shrugs.

“Probably.”

James hums in agreement. The neon sign buzzes behind them, another midnight driver passes by with no look spared their way, and their breaths keep blowing out cool and steady onto the icy air.

Neither of them moves to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> first, writing james instead of rhodey so many times caused me pain.
> 
> second, idk if anybody else has this, but there are certain people with Distinctive Energies on my college campus who my friends and i consider cryptids. so rhodey and tony get calculator killer cryptid, and my specific cryptid is Shrek Guy, who only wears onesies and a headband with shrek ears. Shrek Guy, if you're reading this, i hope you're having a good day.
> 
> third, thank u for reading <33 consider leaving a comment, they give me energy boosts


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